Snapshots
by Confoundment
Summary: Snippets of James and Lily's life.
1. The Beech Tree

_Disclaimer: If you recognize it, it's not mine._

_Author's Note: This will be a series of "snapshots" from the life of Lily and James. Not sure how long it will be, but it will definitely be more than a two-shot. Make my day and review please! :)  
_

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She's trying to read her novel. Sitting by her favorite beech tree, the Black Lake is in view and she can hear other students, younger and older, frolicking about, enjoying the day. She loves coming out here, when the sun is bright and the sky is clear and there's just a slight breeze—enough to caress her skin, but not enough ruffle the pages of her book. It's a perfect day, and she should be enjoying it. She should relish in the feel of the rough bark against her back, the sunlight warming her feet. She _should_, but she isn't.

She can't concentrate. The sun is too warm and the tree trunk too hard. If she's being honest with herself (which, honestly, has been very difficult lately), it isn't the tree or the sun. No, it's that she's _distracted_. Her eyes, though she's trying to keep them trained on the pages of her book, keep flicking across the meadow to a similar tree. He sits there, in its' cool shade, surrounded by his friends. Sirius Black is jabbering on about something, sprawled out on the grass, hands behind his head. Remus Lupin, by far her favorite of the four infamous "Marauders," sits to the left, a book in his lap. He looks up every now and then, presumably when Sirius says something interesting. Peter Pettigrew is sitting by Black, cross legged, picking at the grass.

She allows her gaze to linger on Potter for a moment. He's leaning against the tree, nodding to Sirius every now and then. He's playing with a snitch, letting it flit away before reaching out to capture it before it's too far. He pushes his glasses up with a finger, runs a hand through his hair. She looks away.

She doesn't know why she keeps looking over there. She hates him, hates all of them actually. Well, except for Remus. He's a nice boy, except for his choice of friends, and she's enjoyed having him as her fellow prefect. She hates Potter the most though. He's rude and unnecessarily cruel and he never knows when he's crossed a line. He torments others for amusement and he has this unreasonable infatuation with her. It's obnoxious and he's insufferable. She hates him.

An auburn curl falls free from her hair clip. She pushes it back behind her ear and as she does, she looks over at them, at him, once more. He's staring at her, like he does sometimes. He _is_ handsome, she knows. He's got that "windswept" inky black hair and those penetrating hazel eyes, but it doesn't matter, because she hates him. He tugs a hand through his hair again and smiles this small smile. She has the sudden urge to smile back and she doesn't know why.

But she doesn't. She looks back down quickly, embarrassed. She can feel her cheeks flush.

She feels the ground vibrate with the steps of someone approaching.

"Oh please no," she mutters almost inaudibly.

"Hey."

She looks up and there he is, standing over her. When did he get so _tall_?

"Potter. Hello." Her voice is laced with disdain.

"You have plans tomorrow afternoon, Evans?" he asks.

"No," she answers, because she doesn't.

He looks hopeful.

"Fancy a trip to Hogsmead then?"

"You are insufferable," she replies, standing. She closes her book.

"Should I take that as a yes?"

He's smirking.

"Take it as whatever you want, Potter, but I'm not going anywhere with you."

He puts a hand to his chest and pretends to be in pain.

"You're breaking my heart, Evans."

She glares.

"Go find some slag to pick up the pieces, Potter." There is venom dripping from each of her words.

She looks at him before turning away and striding toward the castle. She sees something, deep in his eyes, for just a moment before it's gone. She doesn't know what it was, but she glances back at him when she's almost inside.

He's still standing there, by her beech tree, hand to his chest, staring after her.


	2. Snivellus

He finds her in the back of the library. She's wrapped her arms around her knees tightly, head buried. She doesn't know that he's there, watching her. Frankly, she's not sure if she cares if anyone sees her. She's not sure if she cares about anything anymore.

She's sobbing. It's quiet, but he can tell. He knows why she's crying—half the school heard what Snape called her. He wasn't there for it though. If he had seen their fight, heard their exchange, he probably would have killed Snape then and there. Peter saw it. He came running up to James moments after, all out of breath.

"Prongs! Prongs!"

James had turned around, an amused smile turning up the corners of his mouth.

"Yeah?" he answered.

"You'll never believe what I just saw!" Peter was panting and his face was red and blotchy with excitement. "Evans and Snivellus started arguing by the lake. It was real quiet at first, but _you_ know how she is… They starting shouting and he called her a… a…"

"Called her a what?" James asked.

Whispering now, Peter replied, "A _mudblood_."

"What?" James had tried to stay calm, but he couldn't help the outrage that seeped into his voice.

Peter nodded fervently. "I know! And Evans just _looked_ at him. She didn't say a word! She just turned and ran."

Peter's eyes were wide, in awe of the entire situation. James had just left him there and soon after he walked away, Peter ran off to tell Sirius.

James sits next to Lily, tentative. The bookshelf is digging into his back uncomfortably. He ignores it. The air dusty back here and he's trying so hard not to sneeze. She still hasn't noticed him.

"Evans?" His voice is soft. He doesn't want to scare her—or worse, make her angry. To be honest, _he's_ a little scared. He's never had to comfort a crying girl before. Actually, he's never even had to _interact_ with a crying girl before, let alone comfort her.

She hasn't responded. In fact, she hasn't given even the slightest indication that she's heard him at all. He takes a deep breath and tries again.

"Evans?"

Her back stiffens for a moment. Her sobs still for a beat. He reaches out with a timid hand and places it on her shoulder.

She turns to him, fire in her gaze.

"_What_ do you _want_, Potter?" There is venom in her voice. Her emerald eyes are red and puffy and wet. Her auburn hair is a tangled mass of curls. Her full lips are forced into a scowl and they quiver with the threat of another round of tears. "Come to rub it in? Tell me you were right all along and that _Snivellus_ really is the git you've always made him out to be? " She stares at him, hard, for a moment before continuing. "Wanted to come see the _amazing_ Lily Evans fall from her pedestal?"

"Christ, Evans. No." He knows he shouldn't be surprised, but he is.

"Then why?" she snorts.

He has to think for a moment. He's not sure why he's here. When Peter told him, the only thing on his mind was finding her, he hadn't pondered the why.

"Because I… I wanted to make sure you were all right."

Infinitesimally, her eyes soften.

"Well, I'm not," she murmurs, tears brimming. As they begin to fall, she turns her head away from him. "Just go, James."

It's the first time she's ever used his first name. He thinks, for a second, that it's a horrible way to hear her say it, all sniffly and clogged with tears, but it's beautiful all the same.

"No, Lily," he says softly.

He wraps an arm around her shoulders, pulls her to him. She turns her head into his chest. He massages soothing circles into her arm. He presses his face into her hair. She takes deep, shuddering breaths, the tears falling freely. The front of his white button-down shirt is soaked through, but he doesn't care.

He just sits there, comforting a crying girl he wishes he could call his friend.


	3. Bollocks

_Author's Note: So sorry for the wait! I've been really busy procrastinating the rest of my life to write. Inspiration struck today though (along with a ton of lightning, I might add) and now you've been giving another snippet of James and Lily's story. Review and you'll be my favorite :) _

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He watches her for a moment. She's hunched over, one leg folded beneath her—which, really must not be very comfortable on the hard wooden char, he thinks—scribbling furiously on an absurdly large scroll of parchment. She keeps brushing her grown out fringe that keeps falling in her line of vision. Finally, with a huff, she twists her auburn curls into a bun and sticks a spare quill in the middle to hold it in place. She's writing again, shining eyes darting between her parchment and various texts. She looks so determined. He's amazed.

He's known that his feelings for her are more than just a school boy crush for a while now. There's no denying it. There never was, really. The boys have more or less quit ragging on him about her. Though the four of them share _everything_, they've come to the realization that when it comes to Lily, they will never understand. James isn't quite sure he ever will either.

He decides that it's time to go over to her, talk to her, rile her up. It takes about thirty seconds to irritate her to the point of outburst.

"For Merlin's sake, Potter! Will you just _give it up_?" She spits, face flushed.

"No," he answers simply, a crooked grin curving his lips.

She sighs, heavily. "Why not?"

She's praying, absolutely praying, to the God of Essays to make him just _go away_ so she can finish her twenty-four inch transfiguration essay—she _loathes_ transfiguration—and go to bed.

"'Cause my tenacity and perseverance is what makes me so damn loveable."

He's smirking.

She's seething.

"I wouldn't call it loveable," she grumbles.

"Oh please. You fancy me, Evans. Hell, I'd even go so far as to say you _love_ me, Extract that stick from your arse and perhaps you'll admit it."

Her eyes narrow. She's glaring a hole straight through him, he swears. Her knuckles are white from the death grip she has on the arms of her chair. The rest of her is scarlet. Her hair seems to have set ablaze. Anyone looking at her would immediately see, sense, rage. Unadulterated anger. But not James. No, all he sees, feels is passion.

And he's grinning like a fool because of it.

"So help me, you foul creature, if you do not fucking leave me alone I will hex your bollocks off." Her voice is low, dangerous, but James doesn't care.

"Oh, now _Lily_. Let's not kid ourselves. We both know that's not all you want to do with my bollocks," he says with a laugh and a wink.

Her wand is drawn within a millisecond. In the next, a powerful hex shoots from the tip of her wand at the command of her murmured words.

She doesn't hex his bollocks off, but they do suffer extensive trauma and the result most definitely is not pretty. But James thinks it's worth it, because, honestly, he knows that anything is worth a glimpse of that passion.


	4. The Dress

_Author's Note: Sorry for the delay, if anyone gives a shit. Leave a review to let me know you care. Thanks and enjoy!_

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She's spent hours getting ready, making sure her hair and makeup are just right, and ensuring that her dress— which cost more than she would ever admit — hangs from her soft curves perfectly. Instead of focusing her obsessive compulsive tendencies on her homework, for once, she'd concentrated on her appearance and the result was akin to divinity. She felt lovely.

It's her first year attending the Yuletide Ball with a proper date. Of course, she's always had suitors. Well, one suitor in particular. When James asked her again this year, she dutifully declined just as she always has. Her date, Nathaniel Andrews, had asked her the day after James. She chose to take that as coincidence and had accepted enthusiastically. After all, he _is_ kind, handsome and clever. Best of all? She doesn't absolutely abhor him.

She stops at the top of the staircase before the entrance of the Great Hall.

He's standing with Sirius, the both of them waiting for their dates. The ball started twenty minutes ago and Sirius is impatient as ever.

"Merlin," Sirius grumbles, elegantly handsome in his dress robes. "Women take bloody _forever_."

But James isn't listening. His eyes are glued to a girl standing at the top of the great marble stairs, eyes sparkling as they sweep over the crowd. Deep scarlet curls cascade from her intricate up-do, framing her face, adding a touch of delicacy to her features. Her plump lips are stained an inviting pink. Pale slender fingers tap anxiously against her hip and he notices her dress for the first time. A deep burgundy, it hugs her breasts, waists and hips magnificently and falls just above the floor in silken waves.

He's awestruck. He honestly believes he has never seen anyone look as stunning as she does tonight, not even the witches in those magazines Sirius is always showing him. She's walking down the stairs and James doesn't know what to do with himself. He's fighting between the urge to race up to her and take her into his arms and his current inability to move in the slightest. When she reaches the bottom, she stands alone, looking around uncomfortably.

Without any conscious decision from him, he's ambling over to her. He comes up behind her, places a hand on the small of her back. She turns to him, face expectant. Her smile fades just the tiniest bit when she realizes it's James and not Nathaniel.

"Lily," he starts, voice no more than a murmur. "You look absolutely radiant."

She blushes, he notices, and he can't help his smile.

"Thank you," she whispers.

His hand is still on her back and his fingers are humming at the feel of her.

They chat for a moment, strictly small talk, until James sees her date over her shoulder.

He's wholly unable to form a coherent thought, not with her standing so close, not with her looking the way she does, not with her being _her_. So without thinking, as seems to be his pattern this evening, he leans down, his lips a mere millimeter from her ear. He's so close she can practically feel his lips on her skin. She unconsciously inhales sharply.

"Save me a dance?" he murmurs.

She nods slowly, dumbstruck, as he slowly backs away. She has the urge to grab his wrist, place his hand back on her waist, make him stay, but she doesn't. He has this little smile as he leaves her and it makes her chest tighten.

He stares at her all night. He can't stop. Sirius keeps snapping photos obnoxiously with his brand new camera. James knows that he's going to look hopelessly distracted in all of them. For her part, Anthea, his date, is doing everything in her power to focus him. She even goes so far as grabbing him through his trousers during the feast. James, slightly taken aback, politely pushes her hand away. Anthea huffs in annoyance.

Sirius chuckles. It baffles him why anyone agrees to date James when it is so blatantly obvious that he is head over heels in love with Lily.

Anthea decides that although she looks great on James' arm, she is not getting enough attention in the least. She kind of pats James on the head and flounces over to a solemn seventh year who's own date has left him for her friends.

He hardly notices.

It takes him a few minutes to clear the cobwebs in his mind enough to stand up, to walk over to where she's sitting. She looks up at him, mildly surprised.

"You said you'd dance with me," he says and out of habit, it almost sounds accusatory, defensive. She thinks she sees him blush.

"I did," she agrees.

Thankfully, Nathaniel is chatting with a few of his friends and doesn't see her own charming blush.

"Er… Care to now then?" He's embarrassed. She's making him all tongue tied sitting there looking as she does. It's not fair, he decides. Not fair at all.

She smiles slightly and nods. He holds out a hand for her and leads her to the dance floor. He takes a moment to appreciate that it's a slow song. One calloused hand reaches out to rest on her hip. The silk of her gown slides tantalizingly beneath his palm, against her skin. The other holds hers, tiny and delicate. And then they're swaying and spinning and it feels like they're floating. Lily is not a dancer. She can never accurately find the rhythm. But here, in the middle of the dance floor, with James' arm around her waist, she feels like a ballerina. It's all just so natural.

He whispers something to her and she laughs, partly because it really is quite witty and partly to hide the tremble that courses through her as his lips brush against the cusp of her ear.

The song ends too soon and they stop. She's a little dazed and dizzy and there's this funny clenching sensation in her tummy. As he releases her, he drags his hand down her hip almost accidentally and he squeezes her hand in intimate gratitude.

"Thanks, Lily," he murmurs.

"I… you're welcome."

"Enjoy the rest of your night," he whispers. He turns and walks straight out of the Great Hall. It takes everything he has not to look at her over his shoulder. If he did, he would see her staring after him, more than a little confused.


	5. A Look

_Author's Note: Two chapters in two days? Unheard of! Sorry, but this one's short! Leave me a review and I will love you! (More than I already do anyway :D)!_

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He can feel someone's gaze on the side of his head. If he's honest, he knows who he hopes it is. That hope is enough to twist his stomach in that strange mix of pain, excitement and pleasure. However strange, it is wholly familiar.

He looks up. He's not surprised when he sees her looking at him. She's been staring at him—relatively often, he might add (even though he knows that's a _slight_ exaggeration)—since the ball. He's surprised that she's looking at him looking at her and she hasn't looked _away_. Usually, the moment he swings his gaze over to her, she turns away so quickly he wonders how she hasn't given herself whiplash.

But not today. No, today, sitting two rows in front of him and three seats to the right, she keeps her gaze steady on his. Her eyes shine with a bit of sadness, a lot of uncertainty and a green so bright, so brilliant he doesn't know what to do with himself. And James? He's confused, but thankful, so fucking thankful because there's a shift and he doesn't know what it means or even what it is. But it's there.

She parts her lips as if she's about to speak, but she doesn't. She sucks in a deep breath instead. He swears he can hear the inhale, though he knows that's impossible over the din of the Charm's classroom. But then Amelia, Lily's friend from Ravenclaw, touches her shoulder and asks her a question. She turns, slowly, and he's released.

He exhales, letting loose a long huff of breath he wasn't even aware he was holding. He tugs a calloused hand through his unruly tufts of hair. His heart is beating fast fast fast. Adrenaline is coursing through his entire being. He feels different somehow. He's not sure if it's happiness, confusion or hormones. Something tells him it's deeper than that and he wonders how the fuck she manages to have such an effect on him.

He stares at the back of her head for the remainder of class, memorizing the twisting tendril of her scarlet curls, willing her to turn around just one more time. But she doesn't.


End file.
